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She moved quickly, packing only the essentials.
She didn't even take a single photo of our children.
The woman before me,weathered by time,now seemed as carefree and joyful as a young girl.
My throat tightened,but I forced myself to speak:
“I heard…you’re going to Arizona soon.”
“It’s dry there,and I know your lungs aren't in the best shape. Take some of the wild honey from home with you.”
Eleanor turned around, hesitated for a moment, and then declined:
“No need.It’s not essential.”
“Since we’re splitting,let’s do it cleanly.We both move on freely.”
I lowered my head,a bitter smile frozen on my lips.
Eleanor’s lung condition,a chronic illness from her volunteer days,was incurable despite countless doctors.
During a field expedition,I’d stumbled upon wild honey from a mountain farmer,which eased her symptoms.
It was rare,not sold commercially.
So every year,I drove hundreds of miles to beg the farmer for a few jars.
As it turned out, all my efforts were just as meaningless to her as our forty-year marriage.
Soon,Eleanor emerged with a small suitcase.
She stopped before me,smiling farewell:
“Thank you,James,no matter what.”
“Do whatever you want with the rest of the house—I don’t need it.”
“Oh,one last thing.This is yours.”
She placed a gold ring on the coffee table.
It was the engagement ring I’d given her,handcrafted with a ring with a unique interlocking design,one of a kind.
She’d only worn it on our wedding day.
When I asked,she brushed it off,saying it was inconvenient.
I thought she’d lost it and was too embarrassed to admit it.
Now,I realized that small band felt like a burden to her.
I stood up abruptly, my breath catching in my throat as if the tiny ring were choking me.
The air stilled for a few seconds.Finally,I picked up her light suitcase and headed for the door:
“I’ll drive you to the airport.One last time.”
Eleanor started to refuse,but I opened the door to find a car waiting.
Nathan and Claire were there.
They urged me to rest,saying they’d take Mom.
The car engine’s hum faded as the door shut,soon vanishing.
I slumped onto the sofa,watching the sunlight change from a bright white to a warm yellow.
The last ray of sunset fell on an old vase in the corner of the living room.
Forty years ago,Charles and his then-girlfriend Margaret, gave it to us as a wedding gift.
In those days,it was an extravagant,dignified present.
I remembered Eleanor,the day after our wedding,unwrapping it and hugging it,tears streaming.
I’d ached for her,blaming myself for not affording finer things to honor her.
As it turned out, her tears were shed for the reunion with her lost love, mourning a chance that had slipped away.
No wonder she never envied Margaret’s wealth,even going so far as to become close friends with her.
After meeting at our wedding,they became inseparable friends for forty years.
Even Nathan and Claire called Margaret and Charles their godparents,as close as family.
Memories,bittersweet and heavy,filled every corner of this house.
I sank into silent despair for days.
Listlessly,I checked my phone,only to find it wouldn’t turn on.
Taking the broken device,I left the house for the first time in days.
At the familiar repair shop on the corner,the owner chatted while inspecting it:
“Professor James,what brings you here?Didn’t your whole family go to Arizona?”
“Your wife’s social media posts—those videos are stunning!”
